Page 81 of Insolence (Eisha’s Hidden Codices #1)

A tremor goes through me, a sob strangling in my throat. Apparently this man Lydia worked for, the Viper, is my maternal uncle.

Except I’m most definitely not my father’s daughter, and it sounds like I’m not my mother’s child either! Who am I?

How has my limited concept of myself been turned on its head so many times in the last twenty-four hours? And Lydia isn’t finished:

You’re why I’m here.

Nausea hits, draining the blood from my face.

Everything feels too sharp, too acute all of a sudden.

The humid air is suffocating. Even though the light in here isn’t all that bright, a deep-seated ache throbs behind my eyes.

Combined with the cloying stench of violet hair wash, rose bath salts, and almond oil, it’s an assault on my newly mended demun senses.

The information circles my brain, jarring me like a bomb that won’t stop exploding. It’s all too much.

“Well?” I say, my voice a touch too shrill. “Who in the hell am I, Lydia?”

She bends over the stool again, her pen nib hovering, when noise explodes from somewhere down the hallway. We both start. The pen slashes a jagged, black streak across the paper. Both of us whirl toward the door.

Someone is yelling in the hallway.

Lydia issues a choked gurgle, her eyes flashing to mine. That cannot be good.

We’re both scrambling, immediately flying into action. I’m looking for some other exit I can use while she’s tearing the paper to pieces. The pen gets knocked to the floor. I swipe it up in a hurry, shoving it into my interior cloak pocket.

One by one, the doors lining the hallway are being ripped open and slammed closed again. Somebody is looking for something. Somebody is looking for me !

I throw open the corner cupboard to find shelves brimming with rolled towels, scented salts and oils, bars of soap, jars of flower petals. There’s nowhere to hide!

The sound of tearing fabric fills my ears, and I spin to find Lydia frantically yanking her clothes off.

The clamor of slamming doors gets louder and closer, as does the yelling.

Where’s the case? Where is the gods-be-damned pen case?! I tear around the room, wildly searching for the stupid thing, cursing myself for bringing it.

Cursing myself for not leaving well enough alone , like I was told to.

A splash comes from the tub. Lydia is fully submerged when I look. Her wet head rises from the suds, and I realize she’s taken the torn bits of paper in there with her. She must be holding them under the bubbles.

I might admire her ingenuity if not for the fact that my skin feels too damn tight and hot.

The racket approaches the other side of the door. Someone is yelling, “—saw her come in here! Where is she, girl?”

Kiera’s pleading pierces my ears through solid wood. “Sister, please, I assure you—”

The pen case is lying open underneath the tub, near one of the claw feet. I scoop it up, swearing, and jam it next to the pen right before the door slams open.

Sister Ailen stands framed in the doorway, her face nearly the same deep red as her robes.

She’s clutching her cane in one hand. The other is wrapped around Kiera’s upper arm. “I thought she wasn’t here, eh?” She half-drags, half-shoves the terrified handmaiden into the room. “Want to revise your story, you lying little weasel?”

Kiera yelps and cowers. Tears streak her face.

Oh, you unholy cunt. Something inside of me knows I can get to Ailen in two strides, grab the girl, knock the hag on her ass, and pound her skull into mush with my fists or feet. I know this in my soul. In my very essence.

In the hollows of my bones.

“It’s not her fault,” I snap, straining to keep my back pressed against the cupboard doors.

Afraid I really will kill her if I entertain the notion further.

Then Deirdre will fucking slaughter me, and if she doesn’t, Elodie certainly will.

“She had nothing to do with it. I snuck in on my own. She didn’t even know I was here. ”

Eyes narrowed and mouth twisted, the incensed sister shoves Kiera to the floor before limping across the room in deceptively swift strides.

Lydia has her knees up and her arms wrapped low around them when Ailen passes. Head down, she’s rocking back and forth, sending ripples through the foamy water.

Ailen’s on top of me a moment later, menacing in her rage. “ You don’t belong in here.”

“Don’t touch me!” My words are barely out before I’m yanked from the cabinet with a growl. Like the night I first saw Lydia, Ailen’s strength is astonishing.

The next things that happen do so with ruthless speed.

Pain explodes at the base of my skull. My teeth sink through my tongue, my vision swimming. Agony splits my mouth like lightning, blending with the ringing in my ears.

Fuck! Choking out a stunned wail, I stumble to a halt. Blood gurgles in my throat and dribbles down my chin and neck. Something hot and sticky is oozing through my hair at the back of my head.

But I’m a demun who’s no longer starving. The damage doesn’t have a chance to disable me before my skull and tongue and pride are re-knitting themselves.

The pain is slower to leach into a dull throb, but rage keeps me going. I’m operating on instinct when I lunge into motion again.

My feet carry me to the door far easier than they ought to. I’m too strong, too fast. Every step feels lighter than the last. Hell, I should be unconscious and bleeding out after a blow like that!

There’s something else, too; it swirls through me like a tempest, like strange exhilaration.

A crazed sort of roar tears out of Ailen. Her cane makes up the distance. This time, its heavy brass grip catches me behind the left knee.

I go down with a yelp, landing hard. Pain splinters through my knee and hip.

My palms slap the tiles a fraction of a second before I catch the whistle of the heavy brass grip soaring through the air.

The next blow lands on my right shoulder with a dull crunch, burning like fire and putting stars in my eyes.

My essence simmers with what feels like untapped power. It’s chaos , I realize, half-dazed. It’s buzzing in every molecule and thrumming through my aura.

“Don’t you test me further,” Ailen croaks, huffing with exertion. She claws at my back.

As much as I want to grab her and smear her innards on the floor, fawning seems like the smarter tactic. “I won’t! Sister, I’m sorry,” I blubber past my punctured, slowly healing tongue. “I’m—”

My unfastened cloak is torn from me and hurled aside while I force myself to stay down. Force myself to ignore the fact that I feel both grounded and like I’m rising. Floating up and out of my body again as the air shimmers around me and through me.

The monster doesn’t stir behind my ribs this time. It doesn’t live there anymore. Really, there’s no monster at all, and there never was.

The only beast that’s ever been inside of me is myself . I am a creature of chaos and magic, shaped by the Mother of Destruction and Regeneration herself. I am power.

A destructive force to be reckoned with.

At the moment, I have no choice but to feign weakness in spite of the irresistible urge to maim coursing through me. Somehow, I will my physical body to stay down while the rest of me hovers near the ceiling. I watch as Ailen closes in.

The bitch winds her fist in my hair. I hear myself cry out, feel hot and cold flash through my body, but it's at a distance.

Don’t fight her; don’t resist. You’ll only make it worse. Although my knee and shoulder are healing now too, the phenomenon is far from instantaneous. All I can do is watch while Ailen drags me the rest of the way into the hallway. But I mustn’t fight back. I won’t .

If she discovers what I am, it won’t be long before they trace things back to Elodie.

Instead, my physical body draws deep, slow breaths, going deliberately limp. I allow myself to be dragged like a broken doll.

Landing in a bruised heap, I’m acutely aware of Kiera’s terrified sobs. The door slams so hard it rattles my bones. Ailen looms over me.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper when I ought to rip her apart.

Putting my hands up, I’m every bit the beaten, cowering dog, and I hate it. I hate this deranged cunt as much as I hate Kerrigan and the imperious prioress whose orders they enforce. The fact that Deirdre herself is only doing the Five’s bidding because it’s preferable to the alternative.

I despise everything about this place and abhor the fact that I brought myself here.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. My whisper sounds pathetic. Breathe, Tiss. Breathe. Meanwhile, the absolute, undistilled force of the Dead God flows through me.

Waiting for the next blow, I wrestle against every deadly, murderous impulse screaming through my bones.

“Such a pretty face,” Ailen finally mutters, puffing for breath and towering over me. Leaning on her cane. “Next time I catch you out of bounds like that, I won’t hesitate to break it.”

Finished meting out her twisted justice, she leaves me crumpled on the floor, covered in blood, filled with unrealized vengeance, and slowly, gradually healing.